The night after I returned from my first visit to China, from labyrinthine Beijing, charming Xi’an, and neurotic Chongqing, I went for a drink with Matt. I told him about the life in China, bubbling with energy, about the curious people and the imposing architecture. All things he already knew, since he’d spent months living in and travelling through the enormous country. But, feeding on my enthusiasm, he ceased to be satisfied with affirming my tales, and instead proposed something more drastic. “Why don’t you visit China again? This time with me, the ‘Expert’”

We downed our beers and video-called Jin, the friend I’d met in Xi’an. Finally it was my turn to stare and wait, as I didn’t understand a word of their Chinese. I’d grown used to playing that trick upon Matt, who couldn’t follow my Japanese. But despite my lack of grammatical understanding, it was still clear something big and positive was brewing. Especially when they laughingly started comparing their cigarettes. Both Chinese, but different brands. 

We decided on a date, packed three pairs of socks and four boxers, and flew to Beijing. We didn’t stay in the capital beyond the obligatory dinner of Peking Duck, and instead took the early morning train to Datong. I showed Matt the spectacular temples, pagodas, and monasteries in the hinterland of that industrial, coal-dust-covered town, while he set out to introduce me to Chinese nightlife. I won’t complain about the warm beer. Instead, let me praise the live music, the light shows, the noisy but hospitable Chinese. Turns out people everywhere like to have fun.

Another train brought us down to one of the most picturesque spots in the country. Pingyao is a small place, in the middle of nowhere, which is part of why it became the financial centre of China during the Qing Dynasty. Its distance from major cities and the ocean insulated it against rebellions and pirates, while its modest size meant everyone knew everyone, creating a system built on honour and trust. And while most major cities industrialised and lost much of their past, Pingyao was forgotten, almost unchanged, and kept its city wall, its black brick homes, and its many watch towers. Like a scene from a film

Finally Matt and I reached Taiyuan, capital of Shanxi. We met Jin for lunch downtown, only a short bike ride away from our hotel. Our Chinese friend had brought his girlfriend, and with the four of us, we enjoyed our hot pot, grilled fish, fried chicken, and more. Excited as I was, I muddled Matt’s efforts at speaking Chinese and translating for me. I grabbed the phone for help, and resorted to sign language when haste made all else inadequate. 

That afternoon Jin and his kind girlfriend brought us to the Jinci Temple, buried inside an expansive park, cut by small streams, peppered with ancient cypresses, and lovely with the sun pouring through. The complex was built and expanded over centuries, mixing different styles, donated by different lords. As Matt and I pointed out carved dragons and glazed pavilions, Jin apologised again and again. He felt he hadn’t prepared well enough, and that he couldn’t tell us about the symbols and legends connected to this magnificent place.

Of course we asked him to relax, to enjoy the sunny day together with us. Even if some of the meaning was lost on us, we could still appreciate the beauty, and besides, we’d probably forget the names of the spirits, styles, and emperors within a day. Naturally it was Matt who found the best way to shift the mood and find some distraction. He sniffed the air, and like a foxhound made his way through traffic, into the narrow alleyways, down a set of stairs, to some underground destination. 

Astonishingly, he had found us a pool table.